05.28.04 - 1:39 a.m.

so i gave his keys back.

i'll be calling him smack from now own, in homage to heroin, which is the closest analogy i have for what it is i have with my ex-boyfriend.... i've been going through withdrawal symptoms after a long and unhealthy relationship with him...i am also having the hardest time kicking the habit of something i hate that much. it seemed appropriate.

i don't mean to be whining about a boy on this thing continually, but, well, i'm whining about a boy. suck my dick if you don't like it.

giving keys back is a strange ritual. giving back a second set you didn't realize you had until four months later is really odd. it makes you look like a stalker/crazy chick.

so, sometime last summer i had this friend coming to visit me, i was writing a thesis, the apartment was supposed to be in the midst of being packed up for my move, and everything else was in chaos as usual... i went to walmart to get an extra set of keys made for my friend, zoe.

a mundane thing. i believe i said "cut these two keys here" to the underage, underpaid teenager they were letting play with the machinery that day. of course, when i came back (i just had to check out their 1.99/yd fabric bin, i'm hooked on that shit like its raining martha inspiration) he had cut 5, including my boyfriend's extra keys.

now insert 9 months later, a move to a different province, a painful breakup, and me leaving my original spare set of keys at his place at xmas.

now, don't i look like a psycho for still having a set of keys? i feel guilty and paranoid about myself, like i planned it this way. anyways, new girlfriend of his is visiting. can't exactly knock on his door and give them back (his definition of friends doesn't include actual one on one contact), and i'm only here in my home province for another couple of days. so i kept them in my purse waiting for a moment when, if while driving by, i can be sure that i can scoot the 10 feet to his front door, try them to make sure i'm right that they are his keys, then leave them in his mailbox WITHOUT running into him and the new girl. not as simple as it sounds.

first of all, i've been doing the extreme avoidance. this is what you would call a small town, and we have all the same friends. so my trip home has been spattered with various escapades of avoidance.... shoving a dear, understanding friends roughly into the nearest shop door to avoid the "on the street run-in" (i mean really, what do you say? so you do the "run away, run away" thing, or do you stand there and make awkward conversation

"......so, smack... i saw that chick you screwed a couple weeks after we broke up. nice big tits, guess you finally got that tit-fuck you had been missing while with me" (in his defense, my breasts are a little too small for that, but fuck, the last thing a girl wants to hear is that you miss titfucking, no matter how true it is)

or...

"oh smack, we laughed, we cried, we had good sex... you made me grow. go now, and be free.."

or....

"christ smack, why is it i can not resolve in my head the dichotomy of you being a perfectly pleasant and interesting human being, yet with the potential to act like a complete and utter asshole?"

or....

*to the new girl*

"he's your problem now"

anyways, i was driving by tonight, noticed his lights weren't on, so i figured, woo woo, here's my chance...

i parked and scooted myself over to the door. as i was sticking the key in the lock, all i could do was pray that no one would see me, and think i was now turning to stalking/break and entering as a new outlet for my irritation with the boy. having confirmed that the keys were indeed for his door, i was going to drop them in the mailbox when i realized that 1)the mailbox was way to deep, he'd never find them and 2) he always has neighbour's mail in his, so it could get mixed up. i decide that i need an envelope to put them in, to ensure that i don't get accussed of being careless with his fucking keys.

i go to an ATM (in truth i had to go anyways) and steal an envelope (and i hope those fuckers caught that on survelilance tapes, that'll teach them to charge me a fucking 1.50$ every god damn time that i'm drunk and taking money out from a different brand of ATM... yeah, i'm really into sticking it to the man, huh?)... and returned to his place to leave the envelope, with the keys and his name scribbled on the outside. this time i have had the sense to park around the corner from his place, and a good thing too, because barely have i gotten around the corner after stuffing the envelope in the box, then he pulls up.....

crouching around the corner from his apartment, after stuffing ill-gotten house keys into a mailbox while he wasn't home, i have never felt more guilty about being accused of being a stalker. if you think this is irrational, you'd have to know me and smack.... the guy never trusted me, took taking the worst out of a situation and applying it to me to a whole new level. admittedly, things happen to me in such a random, chaotic manner so often, that it often does seem unrealistic in explanation. he even accused me once of faking a pregnancy (HOW DO YOU FAKE A PREGNANCY? do you will yourself to not have your period and throw up every morning?) anyway, if he had pulled up while i was trying out the keys in his door, i'd be pyscho-bitch stalker ex-girlfriend. I am figuring, and I don't think I'm wrong in this, if you are capable of believing something really horific about someone else, believing less horific things isn't that hard. i even hummed, so if nothing else, i could content myself in knowing that i didn't even overhear anything they said.

then i sped into the night

i strangely have now grown empathetic of stalker chicks... maybe they are just misunderstood chicks in misunderstood situations?

nah, they're proabably nuts.

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fucked up before - fucked up after